Gaster vs Sans: The Void
by ImpulseFunWritinAnon
Summary: "i am WALKING. AWAY." Sans straightened his back, giving himself a more forbidding posture. "did ya' hear that? loud and clear enough for you, gaster? I am," he said slowly, "WALKING. AWAY. capiche?" The promise of a threat accepted by the door's only occupant, the hidden entity teleported Sans out of Waterfall. [Revised 10/23/2020]
1. Love & LOVE

"'What I want . . . is that you love me even unto death. For my part, it is in death I love you at this very instant. But I don't want your love unless you know I am repulsive, and love me even as you know it.'" - George Bataille, 'My Mother'

* * *

"alright, papyrus, see ya."

Sans turned away as he mumbled off his good-bye to his brother, Undyne's fish-faced house fading away into the distance. Sans walked with a barely noticeable amount of trepidation if one cared to look.

But, who did?

Nobody really.

The way Sans did things went unquestioned typically (unless it was Papyrus, of course. Nobody listened to him either). So as Sans continued his leisurely walk home to Snowdin, he felt free to ruminate on urgent matters.

Sans felt uneasy. Usually, he wouldn't feel the need to accompany Papyrus to his lessons, but today, it felt right, somewhere deep inside. This phenomenon is, for Sans, not new—if anything, it is a familiar feeling.

Sans is not too keen on taking that gut feeling—his conscience—seriously. He has learned the hard way—_the boy in the cowboy hat shed blood upon the cold, hard ground, the garbage dump turning the sharp scent of iron putrid_—that it is better to let it go unnoticed. To let go of himself, even if it festers into self-loathing behavior. Were Sans to listen to it all the time—_you dirty child killer, you killed him, that is the blood you spilled_—the pain would be far too much for the little life that flicks dimly within him, being held alight by Papyrus: the only one who keeps his hope brighter than Sans could ever manage to conjure.

Why this uneasy gut feeling felt stronger than all the rest today was too much to ignore. So led by pure instinct, Sans chose the path of precaution. If it meant keeping Papyrus safe and sound from the inner strife that Sans has come to get accustomed to—_he threw the hat aside, trying to pump life into the boy to no avail as he cried out, 'somebody! help!'_—then by god, he'd put in the effort.

_Always for Papyrus. That will never change, in this universe or the next. _

_Through this hell, I know that much to be true. _

* * *

Papyrus traipsed towards Undyne's house. Nearly tripping into himself, Papyrus barged in. Before closing the door behind him, Papyrus turned to look at Sans before disappearing into the distance. He straightened up and grinned, as he always does when his older brother decided to act the part, or at the least, whenever Sans chooses to take part in the world around him, but especially whatever Papyrus wants to do.

Sure, the world matters, but for Papyrus, being acknowledged at all is always the nicest feeling in the world. Being important and helpful matters greatly, and if his older brother acknowledges it—even if Sans gives very little input—well, that will have to do!

"WILL DO, BROTHER! I'LL BRING YOU SOME OF MY HOME-COOKED SPAGHETTI WHEN I GET BACK!"

Papyrus let himself in, slamming the door shut with a back kick. Looking around as if the place were brand new, Papyrus looked at his best friend with gleaming eyes. _ It always smells fishy here, but fishy is acceptable! _

Undyne sat haphazardly at her chair, her left elbow lazily set upon the table as the palm of her hand gave way off of her cheek, her right arm dangling like a limp noodle.

She felt exhausted.

_Child killer, child killer, you're in hell, you're all in hell, child killer_—

Undyne let out a breath, trying to shake off her thoughts.

As soon as she felt Papyrus watching her—that unsurpassed enthusiasm infectious as always—Undyne quickly did away with her sour pout, returning Papyrus's warmth with her sharp-toothed grin, hoping Papyrus did not notice her mood—_you're a killer, you're a child killer _, her thoughts chanted. Incessant questions into her well-being were the last things she needed.

Undyne stumbled out of her chair; her right foot caught on one of the chair legs. In addition to her fatigue, Undyne felt restless and awkward from waiting on Papyrus and Sans's lengthy good-bye's. She can't possibly hold a grudge for this long—Undyne lost a battle against Sans fair and square. She tried focusing on the present.

Undyne has been looking forward to another lesson with Papyrus, feeling just as enthusiastic about as Papyrus. Instead of cooking lessons, they will be fighting! If she can't win, then Papyrus will win for her! _ He's ready. _

"So," Undyne began as she stumbled again, but this time with feigned purpose and took up a made-up ridiculous warrior's stance to get Papyrus focused on the reason for their meeting at her house.

She straightened up her posture, her right foot no longer giving way to what would have been a rather nasty (and embarrassing) faceplant to the floor.

"Are you ready for your warrior training, Papyru—"

"sounds good. i can't wheat to try it."

Sans appeared out of thin air, right beside the lanky skeleton. Papyrus's excited grin fell, his eyes narrowed at the sudden presence of his older brother's voice.

Annoyed by the shortcut pranks yet again—and dedicated to catching his brother in the act—he spun wildly around. Papyrus's eyes widened, expecting the sweetness of success. _ Besting Sans at last! _ Because surely this time—_this one time_—Papyrus would get the satisfaction of catching him.

"OH MY GOD, SANS, STO—"

Stunned at the lack of a short skeleton despite the voice, Papyrus realized today was not going to be the day. He looked around again.

To no avail.

"AND HE'S GONE," sighed Papyrus in mock-defeat as Undyne looked on with amusement dancing in her eyes. She would never tire of this. How could Undyne let herself be irritated with the interruption when it was so evident they enjoyed this game? She walked towards Papyrus, giving him a friendly yet strong shove of her elbow on his left arm.

"You'll get him someday, Pap. C'mon, let's get started!"

And Papyrus, reminded of his new lessons, brought out his best posture. He grinned back, delighted, one arm raised, fist in the air triumphantly.

"YOU'RE RIGHT! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL ABSOLUTELY GET HIM!

"NOW, LET'S START! EN GUARDE!"


	2. A Terrific God

"For I had understood that malediction, terror, sown in me like seed, now belonged to my flesh." - George Bataille, 'My Mother'

* * *

The murky cavern's cramped pools of water lift an unusually dense mist, the subterranean mire absorbing the moisture, making the earth soft and wet with every step. The heavily saturated fog permeated every room, every tiny crevice, a dank, waterlogged scent with nowhere else to go. It is dense enough to cause significant discomfort to any living thing that dares to take a stroll this morning; a simple intake of breath is akin to drowning slowly. This, of course, does not apply to the undead monster that could not possibly mind said stroll.

Sans's bones started to ache from the pressure. Visibility was relatively poor around these parts at the moment. Already knowing the way, Sans paid little mind to it.

Glimmers from the lustrous mineral rocks on the damp walls lit up the enclosed spaces of the darkest tunnels of Waterfall; the faint blue sparkles of light glistened from shimmering gems played with the shadows, giving the misty expanse a mystic allure.

Sans could not deny the beauty of that ethereal light from the ores winking by. They gave tiny glints of hope: for each twinkle is a star that is bound to be seen by every monster that leaves the Underground—_someday, _ Sans thought wistfully. He dreams of that day, liked the feeling that burned through his bones with beautiful desperation, confident it is not the dense mist crushing him from within.

_Hope. _

That a trapped Underground resident would take notice of the similarities of the shining Waterfall rocks and the litany of stars in the envisioned night sky in his mind's eye with great delight when said resident had not seen the stars for himself in this universe _(what if they look different this time around? _Sans wondered with childish awe) speaks of a stirring deep within the SOUL—a restlessness that will not quit; determined, no matter the cost.

Although this restlessness made Sans uneasy, at this peaceful place in time and space, he lets it be okay; and he lets the mild determination ease into his very bones. Sans shivered.

_This is okay for now. Let me have this moment._

As Sans continued to fantasize about another uncertain yet hopeful future, his footsteps came to a stop. Cutting his musings short as he readied himself to take a shortcut and expecting to be back in his room, Sans had already closed his eyes, letting himself fall blissfully back, arms wide and ready to hug the messy ball of creased bed sheets on his lumpy mattress.

Instead, Sans ended up banging the back of his head onto a hard surface. Sans's left eye lit up for a second, rattled by the unforeseen circumstances, then dissipated.

Rubbing the bump after the surprise hit he took, unaware of the dark door right in front of him at that instant, Sans swayed to his left, one of his slippers slightly askew as he did so. He shoved his hands back into his hoodie's pockets.

Thinking and pacing back and forth, his eyes roamed, taking an interest in the dark mauve gravel beneath him. Sans stopped, stirring the chunks of small rocks beneath his slippers.

_Oh c'mon! _

Sans's mind sharpened, tilting his head up to stare into the shadows around him.

Then it hit him all at once.

The pressure from the mist had left his bones entirely.

Fully alert now, Sans began to survey his surroundings, sweat beads gathering on his skull. He breathed the dry air (_one, two, three, four, five)_, exhaling just as slowly as he sought to ground himself enough to face his latest predicament before acting.

_It's a grotto. So, uh, still in Waterfall, _ Sans confirmed dumbly to himself, shaken further by his innate intuition failing him.

_I know this place. Stop. Breathe_—_do not start assuming the worst. _ Sans's self-assurance did little to alleviate his worries.

_Sans, think! Use that thick skull of yours. What do you see? _

The tunnel to the left had a table with cheese crystallized by some sort of magical enchantment, while to the right stood his trusty prank telescope and a heavy, wooden chest near the entrance to an ancient passageway with runes inscribed on the far wall—where the Nice Cream guy preferred to set up shop.

Sans was at a loss.

_This is a familiar place to me, so why_—_?_

Sans began to feel dazed, a bout of vertigo accompanying his piercing confusion as he stumbled, arms suddenly flailing as if dancing himself back into balance, one foot forward trying to right himself only to trip onto his left foot, falling headfirst into the ground.

_Welp, this is as dignified as I get, _ Sans sighed, arms splayed out in front of his face, his body resigned to its position as his eyesight began to blur from the panic gnawing at his insides, hooded eyes not giving a single feeling away other than utter boredom, despite nobody being around to try to question why he found himself on the ground. Sans found this far from boring—if anything, this was _extraordinary. _

_Have I lost control of where I can go? Impossible. Probably possible. Perhaps... _

Sans let out a deep breath he had not realized he was holding, the stressful situation taking a toll already. _Any tenser and I'm bone meal. _

His chin resting on the hard gravel, Sans shifted his attention to the door in front of him with curiosity.

_Why did it have to be now? What could he possibly want? _

Sans's eyes wandered to a silver doorknob, the gray door taunting him with its presence.

_Do I need to do this now? Must I? _

_Should I? _

_I could walk away... _

_Oh. _

_I see. _

Realizing the sole solution to this, Sans came to some sort of radical acceptance, despite himself feeling the impending doom of the otherworldly kind right down to his bone marrow.

_I'm not going to like this. _

_Alright, time to get up, _ Sans commanded himself.

He carefully lifted himself from the ground, the gravel grinding against his hands and knees. As he regained his posture, Sans stretched his back, then his arms, joints cracking with every move, letting his eyes close in relaxation and allowing his breathing to steady.

_Well, this is all the comfort I'll have before I start anything labor-intensive. _

As he finished stretching his tense neck with a final _ crack! _, he looked back down at the front of his clothes. Sans noticed the dust that his hoodie and shorts accumulated and daintily brushed off the dirt off his blue hoodie and black shorts.

"heh."

_Nothing about this is funny, but whatever, _shrugged Sans. _I can laugh at myself anytime I want, intruder, or no intruder. _

With a self-satisfied grin, he turned away, boldly stepping away from his troubles—that dreaded door mocking him. Sans just wanted to go home and wait for Pap's spaghetti. He wanted to curl up into his bed and take a nice nap.

Sans felt irritated at the thought, his body tensing. _Wow, that intruder just likes to take and take from me. The slime that keeps on taking. _

_Well, he can't take away my small comforts! _

"this ain't my problem," said Sans coldly. "not right now, not ever. ya' hear me, gaster? ya hear that?" Sans's words echoed and reverberated into the ancient walls as his voice rose with every word, speaking to the ethereal (but very real now) resident that resides a few steps away from Sans.

_Stupid door! All of this, stupid! _

Sans kicked it in frustration, betraying his calm. He shuffled, turning his back on the door again as he ground tiny rocks beneath his slippers.

"i am WALKING. AWAY."

Sans straightened his back, giving himself a more forbidding posture. "did ya' hear that? loud and clear enough for you, gaster? I am," he said slowly, "WALKING. AWAY. capiche?"

The promise of a threat accepted by the door's only occupant, the hidden entity teleported Sans out of Waterfall.


	3. The Beginning of the End

"Everything within me was a stabbing confusion, and nothing else from now on held any interest for me. In the profoundness of my indifference I felt myself similar to God." - George Bataille, 'My Mother'

* * *

The darkness swallowed everything—this void, a space transcending time and space.

_Where is the ground? Where are the walls? _

_Who cares? _

_Wait, I kinda' do. Can't be floating around in the vast nothingness where I can't even see myself. Will Gaster come up behind me? _

_Of course he will, dummy. Don't let your guard down. Just be ready for whatever. I did provoke him afterall! _ Sans thought grimly.

His perpetual toothy grin contorted close to a frown.

_God, I wish this wasn't my default state, but oh, if only Gaster could see what I really thought of him! The nerve of him putting me here! _

Sans closed his eyes, calmly focusing on his current location, opening them gradually into the black, still nothing within sight except for substantial progress: reaching within the most basic of mental defenses, Sans saw himself—a silent spectator in the obscure, quadri-dimensional background—from his hands to his slippers.

_Well, dissociative state aside, I better keep convincing myself I am 'here' and not nowhere. I exist, unlike that jerk. _

As he concentrated, delving deep into the darker corners of his mind in advance, Sans couldn't help but emit a few chuckles, delirious.

_This state of being is exhausting. I'm taking a long nap after I'm out of here. _

"heh heh," chuckled Sans darkly. "you just couldn't let me walk away.

**_"could you?" _**he uttered with venom, bright pupils disappearing, leaving behind a hollow, dead stare.

Sans promptly took his left hand out, grasping for the nearest life form his magic could detect, his concentration intensifying.

Amid the surprise assault, the aura of integrity-blue and justice-yellow—_YOU KILLED THEM, YOU DID IT, YOU KILLED CHILDREN, YOU LET THE LITTLE BALLERINA DIE, YOU WATCHED! _Sans's thoughts galloped, never far from his nightmares—flickered in both eyes, illuminating the darkness significantly enough in this place that seems to absorb all light.

That's when Sans saw him: the somber, shapeless specter in all his pathetic, tragic splendor. It had no resemblance to who it once was—_revered, brilliant Royal Scientist no more_—however long ago it may have been.

_Finally, _Sans looked on at his prisoner triumphantly. _I have you first this time around. _His unforgiving telekinetic grasp on to Gaster's ethereal SOUL tightened to a death grip.

_"so, you can exist after all. or rather, I made it so you COULD exist to ME, since YOU dragged ME out, or uh, in, here." _

Sans jerked his left hand back to his chest, thrusting the dark figure towards him with ruthless force. They stayed there, meeting face-to-face, the form cruelly held upside-down.

Sans halted the magical pull after a bored glance—the mysterious multi-colored glow of his eyes flashing like strobe lights—but not before carelessly flailing Gaster aside.

The pitiful phantom-like monster clumsily dragged himself to Sans's level as if trying to make fierce eye-contact.

With a bark of hollow laughter, Sans spoke with derision.

"i just realized something, gaster old pal: YOU exist to ME!"

The shapeless entity groaned.

"aw, isn't that sweet? i have an imaginary friend now! let's all have a nice shindig together. hey—i know just the thing: a little tea party! i can invite alphys, asgore, and the rest of your colleagues! oh, but therein lies the problem.

**_"what if i don't want to? _****" **

Gaster let out an uneven, ghastly laugh at the gall that Sans had to try and sabotage his intentions. Trying to find—or will into existence—a floor to lay on in the void but failing, Gaster slipped away from Sans's mentally conjured foundation.

The world's malformed aberration attempted to speak; only static and medium-pitched distorted noises came out of the amorphic, abyssal hole that was his mouth.

Sans shook his head with disdain and possessed Gaster's SOUL again.

"ya' know something, pal?" began Sans coolly, his left hand above his head, glaring at the shadow past it. "the laws of nature you continue to violate aside," he sneered, "color me surprised, but it astonishes me that you STILL have a SOUL after all this time.

_"you should be dead," _ whispered Sans. _"you shouldn't be able to take me out of my life for some social experiment that tickles your fancy. _or," Sans's voice rose, clasping Gaster's SOUL hard enough to get an eerie wail out of him, _"out of some misguided sense of purpose. _

_"you are not supposed to exist. ya' know that. right? surely your brilliant mind can accept that," _ Sans said savagely, emphasizing the implication of Gaster's fading mind—something that Sans knew Gaster and everyone else treasured.

_Oh yes, he had a brilliant mind in another lifetime, another universe. God, was he vain, _Sans recalled briefly with disgust. _Very ambitious. _

With vanity and ambition that big, Gaster naturally gravitated towards doing the impossible: the power to alter multiple universes at will.

"oh, your excellency—" Sans brutally threw him to his right "—do respond like a normal person. you are capable of that, but, oh. right."

Sans chuckled mirthlessly at Gaster. Marching with a flashing leer towards him, Sans kicked the miserable deformed creature in the 'face'. The sole of his slipper still had gravel stuck on the bottom from earlier. With the knowledge, Sans ground his slipper into Gaster's 'face'.

Gaster made a discordant sound of displeasure at the insulting gesture.

"heh. of course you can't: i won't let you. anyway—"

Sans turned Gaster's 'head' with his foot. They stared at each other, penetrating, startling yellow and blue meeting lightless, gaping apertures.

Sans evoked a volley of bones aimed at the bizarre apparition. Gaster let out an abnormal, terrifying moan, able to paralyze the unprepared, the mind and SOUL incapable of processing such unearthly sounds that do not belong in the plane of existence. But Sans was prepared. The short bored skeleton, unfazed by the supernatural, merely mentally prepared attacks made to destroy.

"—here, have at it. they'll probably miss like last time we had a little scuffle, but, whatever. unless you decide to want to exist like the rest of us normal monsters, then it will sort of hurt."

With that, Sans unleashed the attack onto Gaster's SOUL. He avoided the first few bones, but then—

"AAAAUUUGHH!"

—the distortion from the voice echoed hauntingly into the realm of nothing, the sound not fading away, lingering far longer than it should. Dark matter absorbed the horrible noise like it absorbed light (Sans's strobe-light eyes the exception). Unlike the light, the void became that sound. The terrifying vibration of sound festered within Sans, his head tingling from the horrific sensation of the dissonant, cacophonous echo.

Sans wildly shook his head, gripping hard at the sides of his skull, preferring the grating sound and feel of bone scratching on bone, willing to ground himself, to feel real, to not fall into despair.

"oh god," he cried out, "shut up!_ just shut up!" _

And with that final cry, as if the place read intentions, the sound dissipated.

With a sigh of relief, Sans continued his diatribe. "after that sick stunt you just pulled, do you REALLY expect me to treat YOU nicely? like we'd have a chat in this hellhole? like we were old friends reminiscing on old times?"

With a grunt, Sans pulled Gaster's SOUL towards him. Sans's eyes darkened, boring into his 'eyes' through complete darkness.

_"go to hell. you are corrupted, hubris your downfall. you no longer need a purpose. you are dead. you do not exist. you. are. nothing. _**_do not mess in the affairs of the existing and the living!" _**

Sans launched him into the vacuum of nothing, Gaster unable to sense direction.

Momentum overtook Gaster, causing him to fall faster into the depthless abyss **_(dark)_** as he groaned incoherently, static and all sorts of ghastly disorganized noise emitting from the aperture that is his mouth _**(darker).**_ A fathomless expression akin to dejected agony on his formless, obscure features, W. D. Gaster continued to fall into that Stygian tenebrosity that imprisoned him _**(yet darker) . . .**_

_**Dark, darker, yet darker,**_

_**the darkness keeps growing, **_

_**the shadows cutting deeper**_

_**No radiant beam of light **_

_**reaching this failed state:**_

_**the demiurge, the obscure silhouette **_

_**of a being that is me**_.


	4. The End

"Corruption is the spiritual cancer reigning in the depths of things." - George Bataille, 'My Mother'

* * *

Sans's eyes returned to normal.

After belittling and reminding Gaster of inescapable, hard truths—and throwing off Gaster across the aphotic landscape rather harshly, for good measure—Sans, with a weary sigh, felt fatigued beyond measure. Attempting to stay grounded to reality in the absence of it was an exhausting, remarkable feat: to will himself to exist in a realm of non-existence was anathema to all rules of nature. But he broke them. Had to if he wanted to get back home to Papyrus. _Now, to find the exit. _

* * *

Gaster fell. And fell.

And fell.

Despairing about endlessly falling, almost all hope lost, Gaster willed himself to land somewhere.

Anywhere.

With a last-ditch effort, he cried into the darkness,_ "I am here! I exist! _

_"I, W. D. Gaster, exist!" _

Then he landed on something. He felt a surface—a grey floor.

"YES! I DID IT!" he hooted in celebration, seeming to have regained some of his real body with that declaration. Far from Sans's eyes yet close enough to see him as faint pinprick in the darkness, Gaster yelled,_ "You hear that, Sans the Skeleton? I, W. D. Gaster, EXIST! I EXIST!" _

Gaster cackled as his body took shape, his monochromatic suit impeccable, standing tall and proud as he traversed through the void at high velocity. With a cry, he lunged at Sans.

But Sans was prepared.

With a lazy side-step and a sudden extension of Sans's right foot, Gaster tripped.

He unceremoniously floated uncontrollably, his SOUL taken, again. The void did not absorb his screams and became them. No, with every wave of Sans's hand, flinging him to and fro against invisible walls conjured with only the greatest of willpower, Gaster cursed and screamed, thrown and shaken like a ragdoll, Sans continuing to gracefully wave his left hand as if he were conducting a symphony.

_Why am I losing? I can do ANYTHING! _

Gaster grinned.

_I RULE THIS WORLD! _

With no time to waste, Gaster finally regained control. He grasped Sans's SOUL, bringing Sans down with him. Sans teleported out of his grip, only to be yanked and pulled again. And again. And again.

Try as he might, Sans lost control of his shortcuts again. Trembling and hoping to god that he doesn't die here in all places, he gathered all his magic and conjured his fantastic, macabre monstrosity, shocking Gaster. That unholy thing that nearly attacked Papyrus until he recalled it at the last second after that snowball fight finally is of some use to Sans. "blaster, sick him!"

"EXCUSE ME?" Gaster gaped, unable to ready himself for the blast that was sure to hurt._ It can't be _—!

But they fought. Oh, they fought. The cimmerian beast, its glowing eyes, one cannary yellow, one deep blue, glared through every move. Gaster teleported in stead of evasive maneveurs, the skeletal animal getting a successful crunch out of his suit, tearing and shredding with its mighty jaws when Gaster could not completely evade in time. Gaster shot blasters of his own invention similar to the amalgamated skull of that foul, hellish creature. He spun out of the way, the frayed ends of his pants nearly catching fire after an immediate blast from the back of that loathsome monster's repulsive mouth soon after wheeling around, nearly running into a grey invisible wall.

The beast charged again, Gaster ready with a dozen blasters.

Sans's creation avoided the incinerating blasts with ease, the creature as adroit as Sans when it came to evading moves with death-defying elegance. _ Speaking of Sans! _ thought Gaster as he cackled, shooting cuspidated, deathly showers of bones at a still Sans.

Sans teleported, but just nearly avoiding the spear-like bones, leaving his blue hoodie purposely behind, torn and stuck to the grey floor.

_God, that could have been him. Shame. _

"Ready to give it up, Sans?" taunted Gaster. "I could go on forever, you know! You are a mere mortal—you have limits I do not."

"fat chance, wingings," countered Sans, teleporting behind him numerous times, dizzying Gaster momentarily.

"DON'T. CALL ME. WINGDINGS!"

With a blinding flash and a furious yell, Gaster conjured a bigger beast, fearsome and growling, its breath putrid. Sans couldn't help but gag at the smell. _God, the smell— _

"Get him, my wonderful creation!" ordered Gaster with aplomb.

The beast charged at Sans, who teleported on top of Gaster. Sans blinded Gaster with his two hands as the abhorrent skeletal hellhounds battled it out, lasers and roaring echoing hauntingly into the void. The sound raised fear unlike any other into both of them.

Sans then wrapped his left arm around his eyes, Gaster struggling to get him off as Sans clouted him on the head repeatedly with a bone club with a _clang! cling! clang! _and a gut-wrenching, ominous _crack! _

"OW, GOD, OW!" Gaster yelled out, trying to get Sans off him. Sans finally did get off, only to strike him again, this time with a hard blow across the chest. Gaster felt the wind get knocked out of him, the roaring and blasts in the distance giving him an insidious, throbbing headache. His arms pinwheeled as he tried to regain his balance from regaining his vision, only to fall flat on his back, a loud _THWAM! _ echoing through the black space as the horrible beasts charged at each other, locking their goat horns together, the grating sound of horn on horn grinding, ringing into their psyches. How it grated them both—they both vainly covered their earholes, only to realize that the both were indisposed. The void relished the terrible cacophany and kept resonating each new sound endlessly. It was too loud.

Sans lost his focus, and they fell down into the endless abyss, beasts and skeleton scientists both.

Unable to propel themselves back to their feet as the sounds of fighting hellhounds continued despite their battle ended, they conjured back their summoned creatures. Falling and falling into vacuity as the sound engulfed their beings, they took it out on each other.

"numbskull," Sans spat.

"You complete nincompoop, this is all your fault—you lost focus!"

"anybody would lose focus with a racket like that," Sans yelled back as they continued to their decline into nullity.

"I propose a plan!"

"fat chance."

"LET ME HELP YOU, DAMN IT!" Gaster shrieked. "Stop being stubborn so we can BOTH get some peace! It's your fault those infernal beasts were let out! You should have known better!"

"how can i when i nearly got close to dying, wingdings? huh? how can i when i panicked about the possibility of never getting back home to papyrus?"

"YOU STILL SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER!" snarled Gaster, trying to fling a punch at Sans, only to be stopped mid-motion, his fist clasped into Sans's right hand.

"don't," Sans said dangerously, the low voice echoing just as eerily into the back noise of war.

"God!" Gaster cried out, "WHY CAN'T I GET A SINGLE THING TO GO RIGHT? DAMN THAT ACCIDENT! _ DAMN THIS WORLD! _"

Gaster conjured ten imposing Blasters with a wave of his hand, shooting relentlessly at Sans as they continued to plummet down. He barely escaped the assault, dodging aerially, his shorts singed as he rolled, tumbled, and teleported out of each hot blast in the airless space, none less fatal than the next. Fighting in the void while falling to some unknown, horrid depths made this a deal more difficult, Sans struggling to re-orient himself to his sense of direction as to not accidentally run into any one of those blazes of destruction.

The echoes of those shots that missed seemed to stretch into eternity, leaving throbbing pulses of energy and sound in the encapsulating darkness that drove Sans and Gaster's mind into disarray from the disarming vibrations ringing horribly into their skulls.

There was no winning with sound like this.

_Calm yourself down, Sans, this isn't over! _

Sans took steadying breaths, not letting the vertigo get the better of him as Gaster continued to shriek with anguish like a wounded animal, letting out all the stops in his great repertoire of attacks bones and miniature blasters abound. Sans would never let himself slide into such megalomaniac tendencies—these weapons were beyond his desires and capabilities, power which he could easily do without. Some of the blasts from these nature-defying weapons managed to decimate a corner of one of his slippers into cinders, missing his foot by half an inch. Gaster happened to swallow the cinders and began to choke.

_This is my chance! _

At last, in his madness (and choking), Gaster only had to let his guard down for a second as he struggled to breathe, the cinders burning the back of his throat giving Sans the perfect opportunity to fire two grand blasters at full power, waving an arm to conjure the bluntest bones and released the blistering heat towards Gaster, making sure to aim one small boomerang-like bone at Gaster's feet to stumble his orientation for good measure.

Gaster could not evade the bone-merang in time, stumbling backwards over and over again in the air after hitting the heel of his right foot. He wailed shrilly in agony as Gaster got scorched by the blistering, white-hot laser blasts.

Sans then vanished again, falling six feet above Gaster. With each second, the two blasters following him were charging bright, fervent beams at the back of their terrific jaws, turning so hot and bright that they turned a radiant white-blue.

_This one is going to hurt. _

Sans then veered right in front of Gaster, who continued to wail like a tortured ghost, the fire blast burning into his body, smelling like burned bone meal, floating helplessly as he writhed in agony, hands over his heavily blistered and blackened skull. Time seemed to stop for the both of them as they stared into each other for an instant. Gaster's battered face fell at the realization of what was going to happen next. The sound continued to reverberate shrilly in the background.

Their minds and SOULS, they had to admit, felt like they were destabilizing to dangerous levels. Gaster stared in horror during that one-millionth of a second, passing like an eternity.

"please, from now on" —they stared and stared until Sans gathered himself, wielding his words like the sword that would end Gaster's little hold on life— "stay out of our lives."

With those last words, Sans set his Gaster Blasters free, teleporting as far away as possible as not to be incinerated by the mass destruction. Firing at will, they released the most outrageous spectacle of a light show, the cacophony from the magnitude of the blasts so loud and distorted that the void became unstable, seeming to perpetually quake. Sans willed the hardest he ever has and finally got some solid ground to stand on, landing nimbly on his feet, feet slightly parted to regain his poise, covering his ears and shutting his eyes as the sound increased to a fever pitch until—silence.

He awaited Gaster's next move—assuming he lived—as Sans let the smoke settle, holding a breath to ease his aching SOUL from all the abuse it was taking from the savage power-play.

Gaster did live. Yet, his form deteriorated. He became the pitiful blob that Sans first saw.

He did it. Sans defeated Gaster.

Sans felt empty.

The victory rang hollow, the silence fitting his mood. There is no glory in fighting that which does not exist.

He sighed, looking down at Gaster. "it is high time that you have accepted your fate, old buddy. accept it like everybody else. like i do. it's miserable. but it's better than you existing as the most inglorious thing i've ever seen. move on, gaster. move on."

After Sans finish speaking, Gaster disintegrated and blanked out of existence. Sans swore he saw a mournful look on Gaster's fading 'face'. His compliance was enough to confirm that Sans was in the right. Again.

_Whatever use he had before at some point or another is gone. How dare he try to tear the fabric of existence for the sake of vain experimentation. Guess he forgot about the part about keeping the world whole. _

After all the chaos, Sans finally got to take his shortcut back to his room. He closed his eyes, falling with raised arms, ready to hug the messy ball of creased bed sheets on his lumpy mattress.

And this time, he didn't fall back onto the cold ground.

"SANS! SANS!"

_There's Papyrus. _

No doubt he must be excited to see Sans after cooking lessons with Undyne.

_Better get that spaghetti. _

Despite everything, things_ will _be all right—no tear in the fabric of time and space.

Nobody disappearing into nothing.

No time-traveling.

No fixing events.

Then his mind paused, fixated upon remembering all that work he did on the inter-dimensional time machine.

_So close to completion, yet _—

_No. _

_Everything must happen this way. _

_This is the way of all things. _

_But. I can't forget. I will not forget. _

_But I will not be tempted into that trap. _

_Not again. _

Shoving that thought into the darkest recesses of his mind—his deepest longing of a time since long past—Sans sat up on his bed and looked forward to dinner more than he had earlier.

He would _not _despair. Not as long as he had Papyrus with him.

_I am okay with the way things are. All thanks to him, even if he does not know it,_ Sans thought with great admiration.

Papyrus is so much stronger than Sans could ever hope to be. So Sans indulges Papyrus, as he feels it is the least Sans could do. God, he could eat spaghetti every night if that's all there was. Sans thought sadly that Gaster could learn a thing or two from Papyrus. Sans had to accept that a force of nature like Gaster could not possibly learn anything from a monster so emotionally connected to this plane of existence that Sans and Papyrus call Home.

With a last fleeting thought of connection, Sans almost felt . . . happy.

"coming, bro."

Sans stepped off his messy bed, walking towards the door, closing it behind him, along with any lingering ruminations that wished him the deepest despair. Had he so little hope that he is not even safe from his own thoughts?

Sans shoved that aside, too, as he looked down from upstairs from where he stood, arms on the railing, as Papyrus gestured to the table with a plate full of cold marinara and over-cooked noodles.

And all felt good and right in the world.

_God, I have to believe everything is good and right. With all my might. _


End file.
